


The Scouring of Purity

by Vulkus



Category: Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23942587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulkus/pseuds/Vulkus
Summary: The manipulations of two colossal egos attempt to work together for a mutual goal.
Kudos: 5





	The Scouring of Purity

The flickering image of a panicked slave pants and groans on the holo-display. Within her chambers, Archon Khromys coughs a wad of bioresin into the face of the attendant sharpening her talons. The Archon takes a long pull from her lho and waves her hand across the controls of her dias. The holo-display shifts angles back and forth but doesn’t find an angle to her liking until, disgusted she kicks the display plinth over in a huff.  
The Archon’s personal haemonculus, Yserosa grimaces, still attaching the archon’s new hair, scalped from a coiffure slave.  
“Are your replacement organs being rejected?” Yserosa needles, “You smell rank.”  
Khromys coughs another spray of spittle into her attendants faces.  
“It’s your rotten regrowths.” She sneered, “A cog-faced mon-keigh could make a better replacement body.”  
“Fantastic,” Yserosa cheered, hiding a ripped stitch under a flap of skin, “Because your mon-keigh brute is here.”

Aestra slaps her nameless claw attendant across the face in fury.  
“Tell him I’m dead.”  
“You were dead, that’s why he’s here.”  
“He’ll read to me.”  
“Maybe he’ll kill you for real instead.” Yserosa said cheerfully.  
Aestra slapped the slave again, simply for pleasure.

A crunching of drukhari darkplate outside announced the arrival of the Word Bearer’s Dark Apostle. The hulking giant dipped into the room, ash billowing from censers affixed to his baroque armor.  
“I see the resurrection didn’t take,” the Apostle rumbled. “This pallid corpse looks like it’s ready for the corpse vats.”

“How dare you,” Aestra hissed. “I’ll have you flayed and turned into a chair for my pleasure.”  
“It would be the first piece of tasteful furniture in this abysmal tower.” Shot back the Apostle. “But I’m not here for foreplay”  
Aestra shrugged and opened her mouth wide, long tongue presenting a welcoming pad.  
“Not for that either.”  
“Ugh, then what good are you.”  
“No good at all, I assure you.” He clicked his fingers together. “Have you forgotten our bet?”  
“What bet, you lumbering sedative”  
“So you did forget.”  
“Remind me then.” 

The Apostle settled in smugly, ready to recite their history.  
“Khaine end me!” She wailed, “He IS going to read to me!!”

~~

Above the rocky surface; the long, sharp outline of a Chaos war carrier prowled close to the unnamed asteroid.  
Aestra Khromys, Archon of the Cabal of the Obsidian Rose, Master Weaponcrafter and Ex-Slave inhaled deeply, eyes rolling and back arching towards the baroque warship above. The carefully extracted miasma of souls suffusing her sinuses and filling her a second time with the final, broken screams of the shattered human cultists that lay at her feet. An echo of ecstasy that made her bottom lip quiver and eyes water.  
A heavily armored sabaton crunched across the carpet of bodies, dark crimson decorated in and trimmed in silver and bone.  
“I trust you’ve sufficiently glutted yourself on my flock.” Came a deep, sonorous drawl from behind a skull-shaped helmet, horned and hooded in black silk. “I’ve come to present an opportunity, not hand feed you treats.”  
The Archon wobbled to her feet, grabbing the waistcloth of an Incubus bodyguard and bawdily wiping the sweat from her thighs.  
“You sure know how to charm a lady,” She cooed, her head spinning with freshly devoured souls. “Present your offer!, The Archon of the Obsidian Rose is listening.”

The sound of heavy ceramite plates shifting and scraping echoed through the thin atmosphere. A pair of huge, armored figures behind the Apostle shifted stance. Their bulky weapons lowing a fraction in carefully presented appeasement. The pair of Terminators were as tall and wide as any ostentatious drukhari doorway and each of their mastodon-like, decorative tusks looked about as heavy as her Incubi themselves. The creature that led them wore the smaller, more common Astartes power armor. Decorated in the obscene and infernal trappings of the worshippers of Chaos in all its forms. Aestra was sharp enough to see the stance behind the armor and the implication made her skin crawl. This Dark Apostle intentionally stood relaxed, low, less imposing than his guards but to the Archon’s exacting eyes his true height was plainly obvious. He stood at least half a foot taller than his Anointed Terminators. A stark difference for even one of humankind's unleashed monstrosities. The infernal mutation wasn’t what caused her alarm however, it was the unthinkable way this Apostle was trying to downplay it as subtly as possible.  
She had seen Chaos worshippers of all kinds, and killed many. Often they displayed their power and infamy openly and loudly. To see one pretending to be weaker and less important than he clearly was frightened her more than she could care to admit.  
Memory filtered through the wisps of soul-delight. She saw herself, as a slave, surrounded by powerful and deadly warriors, making herself look meek and broken. Moments before she had killed everyone in that room and taken the entire Cabal for herself.

“Great and Terrible Archon,” rumbled base flattery from a vox grill in the ornate faceplate of his armor. The mechanism was cleverly hidden behind the teeth of the grinning skull which overlaid the helmet and had a sound like a cataclysm siren. His voice flowed and ebbed with the practiced intensity of his legion’s greatest demagogues.  
“You alone among your peers were keen enough to act on my invitation, an action that speaks highly of your confidence and cunning.” He had been sending coded transmissions through known Drukhari hunting lanes for weeks without a single bite.  
“A ha ha,” The Archon chimed, “You’re so right,” She tapped a gauntleted finger on the helmet of an Incubi guard, “I AM all those things and my peers ARE fools. You may continue, Mon-keigh.”  
Exodite and Craftworlder privateers were pious enough to either avoid or attack any disciples of the True Powers that made themselves known within the void of deep space, it was his hope to find a Commorite slaver greedy and self-confident enough to entertain his summons.  
“And cunning is to be rewarded, The Primordial Truth has seen fit to grant me a vision.” He began to gesticulate almost unconsciously, falling into the weaving of a tale entirely made up.  
“I beheld a shining world, a shrine to the heathen Tyrant of Mankind, a world founded on the paradise gardens of an ancient and powerful race.” The Dark Apostle looked back to the Archon to see her black eyes glazed over, a different tack then. 

“A shrine world. I have the location of a near-undefended shine world, nearly a billion Priests, Initiates and cloistered maidens simply waiting to be taken as slaves.” The Archon perked up finally, “It rests in the heart of a system of Sororitas Monastery worlds which make it impossible to assault without first breaching numerous fortresses, but for the fact that at the heart of the planet lies a hidden Exodite vault from when the Eldari first visited the world before human colonisation. The vault contains a webway gate from which any assault could be made on the world, completely bypassing any defenders.”  
Archon Khromys pressed her cheek in thought for a moment, “Those old things are always so temperamental, you’d need a Farseer to open it properly and I know of none that would do it willingly.”  
The Apostle nodded slowly, “You see why I came to you then, find and break a Seer and the world is yours for the taking.”  
She tilted her head, “Mine? You don’t even try to claim some for yourself? Are you that afraid of me?” the Archon cooed playfully.  
“My humble wish is to see the heathen corpse worshippers face the error of their ways.” The Apostle drawled.

“Very well!,” Khromys planted her hands on her hips, energized and decided. “I will commit my Cabal to finding us a key to your lock, and in payment..”  
“Payment?” spat the Apostle, his clean composer rocked from out of left field.  
“In payment, you will provide for me the Canoness of one of these Sororitas chapters for my own amusement.”  
“A Canoness?” The Apostle was floored at the request. “I provide you with a world of souls to glut yourself on and you want payment in the form of an Adeptus Sororitas Canoness for taking it?.”  
“Can you not do it?” She appeared genuinely perplexed at his reaction.

The Apostle was speechless but after a moment acquiesced and before any blood was shed the two parties left the field to make their plans. 

The blood hunters of the Obsidian Rose flocked from the dark city on their Archon’s command. Raider platforms, reaver jetbike gangs and scourge torments poured from her domain like dark bats. Each individual obsessed with being the one to present their Archon with her prize and gain rewards and accolades within the Cabal. Each willing to ram a knife into the spine of their closest ally to get it. The Archon herself even allowing the hideous mandrakes to take their own personal kind of payment to get the information she wanted from them.  
Soon, her Cabal had the scent they needed and with their Archon leading them they fell upon an unsuspecting Craftworlder expedition, slaughtering with precision and skill. Taking pure delight in the lethality with which they fell upon their prey. At the heart of the enemy, the prized Seer, a rare and almost impossible to catch Aeldari prophet. One unknowingly blinded to his capture by a meticulously crafted crown of crystallized darklight that perched on the head of a cruelly smiling Archon. Try as the Seer might to fight the Cabal that slaughtered his kin, none would dare approach. All forbidden by the word of their mistress on pain of endless denial to even think of the Seer. Realization dawned on the Seer’s eyes, the skeins of fate had never shown him of incoming danger because Aestra had personally vouched for his eternal safety. No message of danger crossed his mind because none was permitted by the Mistress of the Obsidian Rose. Only her own thoughts of exquisite pain existed, all hidden behind the crown of infinitely massive matter. 

~

Drifting like ghostly hulks, the dark fleet of The Graven Star lurked within an asteroid field far from the daemon-infested world they came from. Sicarus, where the XVIIth Legion had withdrawn to after the arch-lord Horus had failed in his assigned role, nearly ten thousand years ago. Since that time, the Legion's Primarch had retired to his sanctum to plan a new path forward and in his absence, politicking had wormed its way into the hearts of the faithful. While factions maneuvered for control of the Dark Council, the less scrupulous members would seek position elsewhere. The Dark Apostle of the Graven Star was one. Having inherited the remains of the chapter from it’s previous leadership, Zerichul immediately began turning the force into a tool for his personal immortality. The blindly ambitious Drukhari were a gamble to this end.  
Zerichul stalked in a circle around the command platform, at each step locking eyes with another in his court of vassals. The lowest, a veritable horde of human cultists. Slaves, followers and pious worshippers who performed the simple, menial tasks that continued the operations of his fleet and chapter. These men and women were retches and survived solely on a fanatic devotion to him as the chosen voice of the Gods. Above them, skilled leaders that organised the hordes of cultists. Corrupted Sororitas, Dark Mechanicum hereteks and Traitor Guard. Each once devoted to the hated Imperium and now, basking in the freedom that their new lives offered. Finally, his true followers. His heretic Astartes. The brotherhood of the 17th Legion. Each one a monstrous force of carnage in their own right, super soldiers once created to enslave the entire galaxy that now stand together in hatred for the diseased edifice that birthed them. He had fought with these brothers for millenia and all had settled into a comfortable understanding of their place within the Legion. Their single, hell-fueled passion was the destruction of the Emperor, nothing else mattered.

Zerichul breathed in the incense-laden air of the command sanctum and felt with his warp-tuned senses the weak pattering of the human hearts within the chamber. Listened to their very lives seemingly racing towards their inevitable fate. The heavy beats of the Astartes binary hearts providing a pleasing layer of bass to the room. 

“The Eldar have signalled that they have our key.” Zerichul grimaced at the accompanied image Archon Khromys had sent.  
“The next stage of our ritual is upon us.” He gestured to a clicking heretek adept and a tactical hologram of the target system shone before them with the planet Purity at its center. “The Archon has personally requested that the system’s defenders join the battle. She has asked for a Canoness and a Canoness we will provide.”  
The symbol for an Adeptus Sororitas fortress monastery appeared on the edge of the display, on the opposite edge, the symbol for the Word Bearers fleet.  
“Anointed champion Barroth will command the fleet in my absence. All ships will exit the warp at this location and begin their advance towards the world.” He gestured again and a series of hidden imperial listening posts appeared in orbit within the system.  
“The fleet will run silent and slow but at each contact, the Heltalon squadrons will launch and destroy the listening posts on the path towards our target world.” As the fleet icon moved, each listening post in a line towards the planet becomes overlayed with a cross.  
“If our enemy are not complete fools they will see this as an obvious attack and believe a significant force on it’s way to the world.”  
The icon for the Sororitas forces moves with speed towards the planet.  
“They will deploy their forces to the planet with speed, reinforcing the world’s defences and await the assault from the stars that they believe is coming.”  
A final gesture and the dark red rose of Archon Khromys appears on the planet.  
“In reality, the Archon’s cabal, our Gal’Vorbak, The Coyphaeus Azavar with his Chosen and I will be upon the world already. The Gal’Vorbak will assault the planet’s command hubs while Azavar and the Chosen will infiltrate neutralize and commandeer the planetary defence networks.”  
The screen zooms to the planet and image screens of various innocuous-looking buildings are marked with readouts of their purposes. “When the Sororitas arrive, the landing craft will be neutralized by the planet’s own anti-air defences. At which point, the survivors will be at the mercy of the Drukhari on the ground and our arriving fleet in orbit.”  
Zerichul waves away the holographic display and circles the room again.  
“When I have secured the objects I am here for, I will call for Barroth and we will leave. We will not engage the Sororitas, we will not waste time on imperial prisoners or battle with the planetary defence forces.” He said this with strict finality. “If the sector Imperial Guard arrive we will be bogged down and destroyed, leave the xenos to be their nuisance.”


End file.
